Feeling berned
Apr. 19th, 2016 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offcntrHad an unexpectedly crowded morning at Saturday Market last weekend. Denise and I are used to getting there very early--7 am for a 10 am opening. This allows us to get our booth up and stocked, restock moved around to the back, using the empty spaces on either side that will eventually fill up with other booths. Got there this morning and new neighbor John was already setting up to the left of us; ten minutes later Jeff--without wife and son--arrived early and set up to the right of us.
Fortunately, we're all mellow and friendly, were able to set up without tripping over each other, and were all set up, vehicles moved away to the parking structure by quarter to nine.
That's when the BernieVan parked in front of our booths. Backed in, actually, facing the wrong way on a one-way street, so that the passenger side door opened on the sidewalk. Said they were going to be registering voters there all day.
My heart sank. Don't get me wrong, I like Bernie. Given the opportunity, I'd vote for him in the general election over anything (and I use the word advisedly) the Republicans have on offer. But I'm trying to run a business here. I work in the studio all week making pottery to sell, but I only open the doors to my store one day a week, here at Saturday Market. It doesn't take much to ruin a whole week's sales: rain, heat, a Duck game. A sudden outbreak of politics.
Our neighbor for seventeen years was a woodworker, sort of. She made and painted bookshelves, repainted thrift store tables, selling them out of a double-wide 10x20' booth she'd inherited from her father. Mostly, though, she sold politics. She'd hang big, hand-lettered posters opining about the latest political issue, all around the sides. Friends would drop in for long, loud, political discussions, easily audible through the non-existent booth walls. It wasn't a business so much as a salon. And it made it difficult to attract customers, much less talk to them. She finally toned it down a little the last few years, once we explained how much she was impacting her neighbors, but you can see why I associate progressive political discussion with poverty.
I talked to the Bernie volunteers, who assured me I'd benefit from increased foot traffic from their presence. I politely disagreed, pointing out that a) said traffic would be facing away from my booth and b) they'd be blocking the sidewalk for people who might otherwise walk through and see me. I walked over to the Market Info booth to see what their take on it was, and was told that Kimberly, our manager, would be talking with them in a few minutes, when she finished the booth assignment lottery.
So Denise and I went over to the Farmers' Market to cool down a little (her--she's even touchier about those 17 years than I) and get fresh produce (me). I was delighted at the end of our amble to see that BernieVan had moved to Oak Street next to the farmers.
Ten minutes later they were back in front of us. Only parked legally, this time.
Kimberly came over to explain. Said she'd talked with a sergeant from Eugene police, who'd talked to them. They'd be there no more than two hours (standard parking meter limitation), and she and the sergeant would be watching to be sure they didn't impinge on Market. We shrugged, sighed, thanked her. Took cookies over to the entire info staff for their effort.
As it happens, Park Street, Eighth and Oak are all one way streets. Parking is restricted on Oak and Eighth Saturdays; Park, which circumnavigates the Park blocks, is angle parking on the right, parallel parking on the left. No matter where they parallel parked, as long as they were legal, the side door faced away from the curb. So they raised their awning, hung their signs, and set up a table in the street.
This is obviously a no-no. You need a permit to block traffic right-of-way. You also need a permit if you want to set up in two parking spaces, their other option. Within ten minutes, they had packed up and pulled away.
They wound up parked across Eighth Street, next to the Courthouse Square/Free Speech Plaza, which is where they ought to have been in the first place, had they not wanted to capitalize on the publicity and foot traffic that Saturday and Farmers' Market generate. I hope they enjoyed the drum circles.
Fortunately, we're all mellow and friendly, were able to set up without tripping over each other, and were all set up, vehicles moved away to the parking structure by quarter to nine.
That's when the BernieVan parked in front of our booths. Backed in, actually, facing the wrong way on a one-way street, so that the passenger side door opened on the sidewalk. Said they were going to be registering voters there all day.
My heart sank. Don't get me wrong, I like Bernie. Given the opportunity, I'd vote for him in the general election over anything (and I use the word advisedly) the Republicans have on offer. But I'm trying to run a business here. I work in the studio all week making pottery to sell, but I only open the doors to my store one day a week, here at Saturday Market. It doesn't take much to ruin a whole week's sales: rain, heat, a Duck game. A sudden outbreak of politics.
Our neighbor for seventeen years was a woodworker, sort of. She made and painted bookshelves, repainted thrift store tables, selling them out of a double-wide 10x20' booth she'd inherited from her father. Mostly, though, she sold politics. She'd hang big, hand-lettered posters opining about the latest political issue, all around the sides. Friends would drop in for long, loud, political discussions, easily audible through the non-existent booth walls. It wasn't a business so much as a salon. And it made it difficult to attract customers, much less talk to them. She finally toned it down a little the last few years, once we explained how much she was impacting her neighbors, but you can see why I associate progressive political discussion with poverty.
I talked to the Bernie volunteers, who assured me I'd benefit from increased foot traffic from their presence. I politely disagreed, pointing out that a) said traffic would be facing away from my booth and b) they'd be blocking the sidewalk for people who might otherwise walk through and see me. I walked over to the Market Info booth to see what their take on it was, and was told that Kimberly, our manager, would be talking with them in a few minutes, when she finished the booth assignment lottery.
So Denise and I went over to the Farmers' Market to cool down a little (her--she's even touchier about those 17 years than I) and get fresh produce (me). I was delighted at the end of our amble to see that BernieVan had moved to Oak Street next to the farmers.
Ten minutes later they were back in front of us. Only parked legally, this time.
Kimberly came over to explain. Said she'd talked with a sergeant from Eugene police, who'd talked to them. They'd be there no more than two hours (standard parking meter limitation), and she and the sergeant would be watching to be sure they didn't impinge on Market. We shrugged, sighed, thanked her. Took cookies over to the entire info staff for their effort.
As it happens, Park Street, Eighth and Oak are all one way streets. Parking is restricted on Oak and Eighth Saturdays; Park, which circumnavigates the Park blocks, is angle parking on the right, parallel parking on the left. No matter where they parallel parked, as long as they were legal, the side door faced away from the curb. So they raised their awning, hung their signs, and set up a table in the street.
This is obviously a no-no. You need a permit to block traffic right-of-way. You also need a permit if you want to set up in two parking spaces, their other option. Within ten minutes, they had packed up and pulled away.
They wound up parked across Eighth Street, next to the Courthouse Square/Free Speech Plaza, which is where they ought to have been in the first place, had they not wanted to capitalize on the publicity and foot traffic that Saturday and Farmers' Market generate. I hope they enjoyed the drum circles.